Beacon

With a quiver amongst the leaves

A baby bird prepares for flight

Not knowing where it will end up

He starts to fly

Over mountains and among oceans

This baby bird finds its wings

Playfully circling around the clouds, it doesn’t meddle with the sun

Like wax, the bird’s wings are delicate

Not wanting its life to end early, the bird flies

With one fell swoop, the bird lands

Across the glossy silvery surface of water, it catches fish

Its feet latched firmly onto the fish,

It flies to a nearby branch to feast.

With this routine of food and rest set, the bird journeys far

Until it lands on top of a lighthouse,

A beacon for wanderers and travelers alike,

As it rests and waits.